


The Deep

by RavenaboveStreetlight



Series: Sigh for Clan Lasombra [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: M/M, Obtenebration, Tentacle Sex, Terrible writing, long lines with a little porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-07-07 23:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenaboveStreetlight/pseuds/RavenaboveStreetlight
Summary: The Great Rebel was so dearly close to Lasombra himself that he would carry out the regicide only because that was his sire's wish.Forget logic and datas for this is a shameless smut





	The Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lasombra Trilogy, in which Gratiano is presented so very sensitive and insecure... I don't believe he was designed to be so-both he and his sire are just some big bad plot devices without character sheets, after all-but anyway I get an idea and like it.  
> This was actually my first fic, written months ago, but then I thought "I shall post some more normal fic, not something so weird and unnatural. This may harm someone". Now I'm thinking whoever not shocked away by such a ship would not get too uncomfortable with the content, right?  
> Don't refer to any rules, I use Obtenebration as tentacles because I want to. (and I believe this Discipline could be described with greater creativity, the rules limit it only because they don't want a Lasombra character to be built too powerful in games.)  
> You may notice this belongs to a series. I promise (if there exist any readers to see this at all) that none of my future fic will directly involve any Antediluvian again, unless it's a simple crack. I know they are not to be described too casually.

Contrary to many mortal tales, vampires did not hold any special feelings against water. _Not that a strong affection for water is not unusual,_ thought Gratiano, reviewing stories about his sire, told by his brothers in the blood. The Antediluvian was really hard to understand, but Gratiano must try. What in or of water made his sire so interested that he would even sleep deep down the sea? What could be used for Gratiano’s benefits?

Those questions left him too little attention to notice the trap waiting for him down the corridor. Darkness engulfed his horizon in a fraction of one second.

Familiar with this dark and cold _nothing_ , he managed to keep calm. Senses to the rest of the world closed, still he knew who must be there to manipulate the shadows and what would they do next. He had been dragged into a room when he broke free to see his surroundings, and that was not surprising.

“Stop this, immediately.” He required and knew it to be in vain. Black tentacles from different directions thrusted and caught him firm, like snakes wrapping around his arms, his neck and his waist. Layers of his wearing folded and rubbed against the dead skin. He tried to guard himself, of course, but he was not their match, not when they ambushed him. He had great potential, yes, but it would take time before he grew _potent_. Experienced through hundreds or even thousands of battle, his adversaries easily had him.

 _Keep calm. Shout aloud and they will just laugh at you._ Gratiano reminded himself not to react violently, not to lose control. Annoying as those old bastards were, as long as they dared not to leave him actually injured, Gratiano would not play the bad guy who caused serious harm to his fellow Lasombra first. _Run away as soon as a chance came._

“Pathetic,” said one of his scorners. Gratiano could not see his expression, as his head was forced to roll back by a dark tendril pulling his hair. ”I would hold little more respect for you, should you strike for your dignity.”

“Here are words from one who cannot make eye contact wi-Ah!” He was touched under his intact clothes. The shadows called by their clan Discipline, different from any physical existence, slid into his collars and sleeves as something without thickness and caressed him as something with even texture on its surface. Were he not a shadowmancer himself, he would be scared when shadows grabbed his penis and tugged his nipples. Now he was just insulted… _just_ insulted.

 _The other day you shall pay for this._ The young childe swore wordlessly, moaning in pleasure and pain. The elders were masters indeed. They brought him to hardness, with Caine knew how many tendrils running along his chest, his waist, down to his perineum, to his anal. Now he had to struggle not only to escape but also to maintain a reasonable mind. Meaningless noises went through his parted lips.

“Oh, yes. Sounds much better than what you are always saying.”

“I love his voice,” added another, “If only he gets a dick up his ass-I would like to see him trying to seal his mouth but forced to scream out.”

They were only talking rubbish. They strongly despised everything of him, naturally including his voice.

He was shoved against the wall, shadows working actively under his clothes, focusing on the head and his nuts. Not a single scar would be left. No harm would come to a newly favored of the clan progenitor, but they could do something Gratiano would never tell his sire, just like this.

“Mind you…how sh-short of…” he sighed between his gasps, before a new black tendril creeped into his mouth to shut him up.

“You coward without even the slightest honor,” answered one elder with no attempts to cover his disgust, “You are nothing but a bag of vitae. I couldn’t imagine how you ever seduced the King of Shadows but as soon as he lost interest you’ll end up a boon for whoever deserves one- _catch him!_ ”

Gratiano, however, had seized the chance he waited when the scorner’s control wavered as he burst with emotions. He tore away from the ties with blood-strengthened muscles and dodged quickly. Though forced to look at the ceiling, he had located each of them by hearing their voices and noises of their garments, so that he could shift himself out of the way they attacked again. The young vampire called on shadows as shield, which got him barely enough time to step into darkness-he was not sure where he would step out, truth to be told. _Anywhere. Just away from those old bastards._

The elders angrily stared at air, and then decided the next time they should make the young one cry.

Gratiano nearly fell on earth when he was back to the reality in another spot. Before cursing his scorners he heard something not from his lips.

“What are you doing here, my childe?”

At the voice he froze. He had transferred himself nearby the sea and right in front of him stood a pale man clad in single-layer black robe, whose dark eyes, without normally visible irises, mirrored nothing but the water and the night sky.

 _Hell._ With his clothes in a mess and his penis ached against the fabric, he had come directly to his sire’s presence.

“Apologies for interruption, my beloved sire. I’m trying to improve my poor control over the darkness. ”

“It would be amazing if you already know your full power. I’m pleased to know where you are on the path.” Lasombra took two steps on him and kissed him on his forehead, “No urgencies need your attention tonight?”

 _It’s urgent to finish what those elders left for me._ But Gratiano had to say no and the Antediluvian gladly asked his childe to accompany him for a walk.

So now along the coast he was walking by his sire’s side, fighting not to sigh. Small-size shadow creatures appeared and disappeared all the time, crawling, leaping, flying and _floating,_ in accordance to the beats of waves.

“Tell me, what is the darkness as you see?” Fortunately, it was a question with leisure; subtle games of European politics that Gratiano liked more usually would be trouble.

 _I cannot think straight now._ “Access to the Abyss,” he made his reply short and simple, “There is the raw material which can be shaped and moved through willpower. The same material makes up the normal shadows.”

“So you’re thinking yourself an architect.”

“Am I failing you, my sire?” The very thought hurt. Not that he was afraid of Lasombra losing interest in him- _those damn old fools know nothing!_ -but he did not want to let him down. Blood-traded, yes, yet it was love.

“No, no. You have never failed me ever since I cast my gaze on you…”replied the progenitor in a comforting tone, his voice like quiet current of the Lethe, “If what I want is some shadow play, I can do that on my own…The point lies elsewhere.”

Gratiano knew what he meant. Since the night the ancient vampire seduced him in his family’s jail, Lasombra had been indicating that he wanted an _heir_. The knowledge again hurt: With all his transhuman intelligence, would the Antediluvian fail to figure that he would _never_ need any heir as he was _not_ to die?

_I would rather that you had Embraced me out of a lust-What am I thinking at all-Surely at such a condition I can’t make sense on why he chose me…I must say something else…_

“If my sire does not view himself as a great architect, I would like to have part of his idea revealed.”

“I will show you something, before the call of torpor gets on me again. Were you not here, I would have sent for you.” with a simple gesture his sire blocked out the moon and the stars, cloaking everything in pure darkness. He could felt the very existence near him, how, he didn’t know.

“It’s not about building up something, nor destroying,” said the deep voice in darkness, “It’s about liberation, my childe. Obtenebration is not a tool, but the end we work for.”

 _That’s curious._ Diplomat in life and schemer in unlife, Gratiano liked to know.

“Mortal existence, starting from Adam and Eva, has been shackled, by limited time, by poor capabilities to travel and to move other things, by vulnerability to water, fire, wind, insects, illness, to name a few. By accepting the bliss of our kind, you have freed yourself from many of those, at the cost of adding a new one, the vulnerability to the sunshine, and some of the old shackles, like fire, remain effective.

“By taking up the art of our clan, you are on the way of removing them as well. Nothing will hurt or trap the shadows, or the Abyssal material, as you call it. Cover the world with eternal night and the other half of time is ours.”

“There will be no supplies without the sun.” Gratiano said it aloud before he realized he was _shaking_. Something was _wrong_ with his sire. Something was going to a dangerous direction, which he had been attempting to avoid since he drank Lasombra’s blood and loved him.

“There will be no need to feed then, my childe.”

“Blood is life.” recited the childe.

“Only for now, for one step towards a higher stage,” recommended the sire.

_This couldn’t be what I am listening to._

“We do not cast any shadows, for nothing cast nothing,” the elder vampire was whispering, “Someone calls it a curse. You shall know it’s the future told by the world. Among all the clans of Cainites, only mine will succeed in transcendence.”

Gratiano felt the touch right beneath his eye, smooth, hard and cold. They were dead, had long been dead, yet he treasured the touch as something _warm_.

“Drink and you will know better.” The hand moved down to make an offer.

He heard the progenitor sighed when his fangs pierced his skin, and the course was pleasant. Not only the taste could beat any vintage or vitae from any other vampires, but the nearly unparalleled power that his sire possessed made his cold lips feel burning. He had drunk it before, when Lasombra drank him dry and turned him to their kind, and when he was given a goblet in the Castle. This time was different, as he directly bit and knew that his sire, too, would gasp for _the Kiss_.

_Were him not the last one I want to hurt in the world, I would surely lose it and drink to the last drop._

There seemed to be some noise in the mist of ecstasy.

His sire might be saying something.

“Life is blood,” A moment later, he finally recognized the words in his memory, “flowing like water.”

_What the hell is he talking about?_

With a foggy mind, he realized both slowly and quickly something he could barely believe.

Lasombra’s hand drew back and caressed his face once more.

The cold touch slid along his cheek and left. He nearly reached out to hold the hand. He needed support. He wanted something greater than his weakness to help him bear the task he understood just now.

“You are planning an end to your form.”

_That’s why he loves water. It flows without a fixed shape._

“This is my worthy childe, whom I sought for millennia.”

The Antediluvian paused and started suddenly, “You are not well.”

“I…”

He wanted to answer, but did not manage to do so.

“Want me to leave you alone?”

 _No._ He reached into darkness and grabbed a sleeve. _Please, no._

“I feel insecure.” His own words sounded so foreign and strange to his ears.

His sire pulled him closer and hugged him. Lasombra was not physically imposing-a stranger would probably take him as a quiet scholar-and seemed very human except for his weird black eyes, but in his folded arms one would know super strength and confidence beyond pride.

He simply melted in the embrace, seizing the fabric of his sire’s robe, his fingertips-his _claws_ -nearly poked it.

How shameful. When he was a mortal boy, he never cried for his mother’s attention. Now as a walking corpse, he clung to his sire like a desperate child.

“There, there, my childe,” said the Antediluvian, softly, “being young is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s.”

“I am insecure.”

“Push yourself not. I could wait another century or so to go on with this topic. Now, rest, my childe. I’ll take care of you.”

He was floating, relaxed, above the rock, then the water, judged by the breeze and the noise. He was held by shadows as dark as everything was at present. The unchallenged master of Obtenebration, his sire alone manipulated the mysterious material much more precisely and elegantly than all his scorners did together. What usually caused terror and pain, felt cool and supple. Those soft black bands bound him. Not a restriction to his actions, but a support.

_Yes. Hug me, wrap around me, wind through me._

Part of his consciousness screamed to rise, to act, to know and to control.

Instead, he let himself to be paid attention to, to be spun slowly, laid sound lying in nothing-no, in the salt water.

At some point, the Antediluvian dragged him down into the sea.

Long hair brushed his cheeks. He imagined the black length of Lasombra spreading in water, as if it fluttered in night breeze, but much more quietly. He tried to picture it in his mind. Some random thoughts happened to join and drew a Lasombra with the head of Gorgon, each snake made up of shadows, which made him chuckle. _I have to be genuinely relaxed to imagine something like that… and it reminds me of something, someone else._

“Tzimisce,” he murmured, voice turned to a thundering thing in water, “Is their progenitor working on transcendence, too?”

“Ah, yes, my sibling knows enough to embrace _change_ …”

He shuddered as the not-liquid not-solid touch tapped the nape of his neck, before sneaked into his collars, running slowly down his spine, like a string of sloppy kisses.

“…but not enough to realize that flesh is, after all, dust, however flexible or extensive. Liquid is preferable, and the Abyssal material even better…”

Another shapeless thing gently circled his neck for a moment. Sternocleidomastoid, Sternohyoid. He panted with a raw desire to be fed on, and the precise knowledge of its unpractical nature. The tendril slid down to his collarbone. It stroke across his chest, his belly, making him quiver.

“No one has ever known the perfect form, but at least I will not indulge myself on shifting my physical shape…”

His arms were pulled behind, his wrists fixed there, and so were his ankles. Instinct put on defense, but his mind pulled it down. Doing nothing when his sire would offer “services” was a luxury not available for many; he would not enjoy the same service from others, though.

“…Among others, Cappadocius has given to his youngest childe a task similar to what I give you, but his heir is so very inappreciable compared to mine…” Gratiano could even see the smile in his mind’s eyes, “…dear Cappadocius did make a poor choice here. Anyway, forget them, there is no way they would threaten our plan.”

Two tendrils had already worked their way along his thighs. One pressed against his entrance, while the other squeezed his cock a bit. If Lasombra was surprised to find he was hard, he did not give out any sign. Gratiano arched his back and moaned. All the shadow tentacles that held him, plus the fact that they were suspending in the sea, stopped him from leaning against his sire, seeking a kiss or fondling.

He began breathily, “I can serve, my sire. Let me-”

“Nay,” the Antediluvian cut him off and repeated himself, “I’ll take care of you. If you feel so obliged to do something, sense it, and when it’s done, report to me.” With that he sealed the bottom of Gratiano’s face. The weightless but anyway powerful dark void occupied his mouth and dug further, sufficient to suffocate any possible words.

All Gratiano needed was just an excuse to justify his “simply lying there”, and he always got what he wanted. He invested the whole concentration to sense. Now the touch was almost a feather, or feathers, now as firm as fist of an athlete.

The tendril patiently fondled his perineum, teasing around the hole, releasing tension before penetrating him at last. With the cold water easing him in, it began to thrust in and pull out, and each time it seemed to explore further with a thicker tip-was there really water coming along with the tentacle? Were adjectives like thick could really apply for the shadow? Questions were beyond him now, for the sensation from one point alone would be enough to strip him of his reasonable mind, let alone the joint effort. Just how many slim tendrils were around his erection and balls, working like the gentle, slender fingers of Lasombra? How many parts did his sire split his attention into? Perhaps the flame of lust bursting inside him exaggerated it all. Fires were dancing in his veins, through his body. It was so good to be underwater really, with the cool embrace of liquid comforting him all the time. _So reasonable to like it…_

He lost count-no, he never count at first- and had totally no idea how many times what inside him had slid over the spot before it came to a halt but shifted its _shape_ \- God, maybe Lasombra was not pleased with him mentioning Tzimisce after all- and it was driving him crazy. The thing split itself into two, and now they were spinning and twisting, trying to make _knots_ inside him. And there seemed to be stings- _impossible_ , exaggerated by his crazy mind for sure-on their surface, very tiny and soft, designed to torture him for fun.

Fun he had as well. When the constantly shape-shifting shadows pressed into him hard he whined behind the gag. They did make a knot or two, and were making even more. They pulled away and strove with renewed energy that he could bet no mortals ever knew, knots and all the tiny ridges sliding over and pressing against just the right spot. The rim formed by same formless darkness around his cock was comfortably tight, rubbing and squeezing. And there were all the other ones, winding their way across his skin. As there was no sheets his fingers could clench against, the ties around his wrists doubled or tripled themselves, thus offering him something to grip. His sire knew him so well and played so nicely that there was no need to roll his hips to meet the rhythm or beg for touch or anything. He would be touched properly before he plead-which was, if he could form meaningful sounds at all.

He was grateful to his sire for silencing him, otherwise he would have bitten himself until scream aloud, to swear in Latin or German or whatever, maybe with a slip of his old accent. Nothing to do but to writhe as much as all the tentacles allowed, absent-mindedly sucking the one down his throat.

It was wonderfully content to feel he was owned by the only liege he would acknowledge, being filled up so perfectly. Not in flesh, never been in flesh, but then _what is physicality compared to the art of darkness_? He would love to sink into the deep forever. Let the deadly cold yet sweet shroud keep him all safe and sound.

Before long he was done, releasing in his intact clothes. Trivial problem, as they already had to change clothes anyway.

All the vigorous shadows were withdrawn, leaving but a lingering impression, and Lasombra allowed Gratiano to rest his head lazily on his shoulder,

“I might have died in that…were there no tasks unfulfilled waiting for me,” he did not make his voice breathy deliberately, “And first, I will report, yes, what true mastery -” He trailed off at the touch on his lips. His sire put one cold finger to silence him.

“My sweet young whisperer, praise me not. Have a try, for the fact will tell me your true understanding.”

“Would you so kindly wait until I fetch a, say, an octopus to experiment on?” He tried to cover his unease by humor. How could he try something he was too young to yield now, even if he did understand it?

“How sad, even my devoted childe would rather play with an octopus than pleasure his own sire,” replied Lasombra seductively.

_Of course I want to pleasure you, but it may hurt, and it will be like burning impaled on a pyre to realize that I myself cause your pain._

“My skills may not suffice to satisfy my beloved sire, I’m afraid.” He said that not to refuse, but in the hope that Lasombra would give him support once more so that he could justify himself-and again just like each time he had hoped, his sire did grant him the invitation he needed.

“I trust you.”

That was enough.

The darkness that enveloped the whole horizon was gone. Gratiano could see the progenitor now, suspending in the sea with him, his long hair, without its usual style, spreading in water like black kelps.

With his blood the childe called new shadows, they creeping like predatory snakes, and by his will he guided them to his sire. He wanted the palely grey lips to brush against his own, but that might be too much. Alternatively he took a hand in his, dropped a kiss and licked the knuckles, eyes locking with the dark ones. Lasombra almost flinched when the tendrils began to scissor him open-the sight was so damn _pleasant_ that Gratiano scolded and hated himself-but he soon relaxed as Gratiano made adjustment.

 _Did I just touch him as lover or tormentor?_ Wondered the childe. Anyway, he continued with the knowledge that his sire wanted him to do so.

Lasombra stepped out from the dark shadows in the corner of one of his favorite chambers along with his favored childe, water dripping from their garments. They were alone. No servants risked their very existence disturbing this place not summoned.

It took much longer for Gratiano to replace his wet clothes, as he wore more. The Antediluvian seemed to be open facing the ever-changing mortal fashion or his progeny’s various personal tastes, while he himself stayed content with simplicity. He sat on the stone bed watching his childe, and asked how he felt in these ever dark nights in the Castle of Shadows.

In his reply Gratiano included his ideas on Iberian situations, economic and military manipulation, affairs involved other clans, and a made up story of how incapable a clan elder proved to be and why this failure-one of his annoying tormentors in fact- must be eliminated from his sire’s noble lineage.

He would never willingly reveal what those dear clanmates forced on him, for sure, but they did underestimate his capability to fake accounts and forge evidence.

The two talked until the elder vampire fell asleep and the younger one exited. Neither mentioned transcendence again.

**Author's Note:**

> Lasombra did want an heir, not an honorable warrior like Montano, but a cunning and shameless control freak just as he was. He had not been picked up for any special reasons, so by deliberately seeking a satisfactory childe to slay himself and take his throne, he was actually making up for himself (in his inhuman way). For Gratiano’s part, he followed the path as his sire expected, for both love and ambition, but finally betrayed the plan-love was lost when the bloodbond faded away, and desire for control over others gave place to that for control over his own fate- by REFUSING to become a new clan founder.  
> 


End file.
